


For The Rest of Our Days

by Syrum



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Character Death, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage Proposal, Mild Gore, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My entry for the Cullrian Mini-Bang from a few months back!  The prompt was 'blood'.</p>
<p>A romantic few days away together is just what Dorian needs to relax, and Cullen has his own plans for the mage.  Neither expected what was to happen at that cottage, and nothing will ever be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Rest of Our Days

“You’re fidgeting, amatus.” Dorian nudged the Commander, who only seemed to fidget more, a fetching blush across his cheeks, hands seemingly unable to remain immobile. Fingers tangling together, tugging at clothing, doing anything in fact to remain in motion. “You’re making me nervous, what is it?” A few months back, the slight tinge of unease that Dorian felt at Cullen’s unusual behaviour would likely have been all-consuming, thoughts of betrayal and heartbreak running rampant through his mind, hurting himself with possibilities before Cullen had chance to. His blonde lover had, for the most part, been able to coax him from such destructive behaviour through gentle reassurance, his presence alone a rock for Dorian to cling to, and cling he had. It was a wonder he hadn’t chased the Commander away, considering his behaviour, and yet here they both were, all the stronger for it.

“Sorry, it’s just,” Cullen paused, chewing at his lip, and that twinge of concern swelled. “After you get back from the Wastes, did you want to go somewhere? With me, I mean. Together.” Dorian laughed brightly, the sound like a bell, eyes sparkling as the worry melted away and he berated himself silently for having doubted the man at all.

“I’d be delighted to, did you have anywhere special in mind?” Stopping, he turned to face the blonde, taking hold of Cullen’s hand and lacing their fingers together, earning a small smile for the action and an almost shy look from the older man. Cullen squeezed lightly, enough to be felt but leaving much of his strength untapped, and the action brought a wide smile to his face.

“Yeah, it’s a surprise though.” Cullen grinned back, a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders, though his heart still thumped within his chest loud enough that he was certain Dorian might hear it. Reaching out, he pulled the mage to him, wrapping strong arms around his lover and pressing their foreheads together. “You’ll like it, I think.” Firm hands found their way to his ass, squeezing slightly and Cullen jumped, flushing heavily. Despite their months together, and the fact that their relationship was public knowledge, he still struggled somewhat with public displays of affection, and the wolf whistle from somewhere behind him certainly did not help matters. Dorian merely seemed amused, though, squeezing harder.

“Then I shall trust your judgement and look forward to it.” He could just about hear Sera shouting something lewd from across the courtyard, the source of the whistling becoming apparent. Dorian was never entirely certain as to whether it was the spunky elf, of Cullen’s responses to her teasing, that amused him more.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone for?” He was doing a surprisingly good job of ignoring her, Dorian thought, aside from the slight flick of eyes to the side and the extra crease in his brow.

“A month, at most. The Inquisitor wants to be back before Josie’s birthday, after all.” Adaar would not, they both knew, miss her favourite Antivan’s special day. The world could end, for all she cared; her loved ones always without fail came first.

“You’ll look after yourself this time, won't you?” Cullen was worried, and for good reason; their enemies had upped their attacks, both in frequency and severity, apparently having finally realised that the Inquisition might be something of a threat. 

“Don’t I always?” He smiled, his usual confidence front and foremost, but Cullen could see the worry in Dorian’s eyes; they would be fools to think the mission would pass without incident.

“No, you don’t. I want you back in one piece this time.” The past three times the Inquisitor had taken Dorian with her, he had returned with something broken, or with gashes and scrapes over most of his body, or in the case of the most recent trip with part his moustache missing and a burnt arm. She had let him rest for a few months, after that, more at Cullen’s instance than anything else, though he had no doubt that it had been Josephine who had finally coerced her into agreeing. The Antivan was, without a doubt, a good influence on the hot-headed Qunari.

“For you, my beloved Commander, I shall most assuredly try. And you are to eat while I’m away, you’ve been skipping meals again and it shows.” Cullen could not help his guilty look at that; he had been busy, and the stress of his position sapped his appetite.

“Alright lovebirds, break it up, the Inquisitor’s ready to leave and she’s getting grouchy.” Varric was chuckling softly to himself as he strode past, short dwarven legs making the trip across the courtyard seem longer than it perhaps was, all the better for catching the small and decidedly useful snippets of gossip that no one really wanted him to hear.

“Five minutes, tell her. I’ll meet you at the gates.” Dorian waved Varric off and turned his attention back to his lover, dragging him close for a long and searching kiss, letting his lips part for Cullen’s questing tongue, his own pressing up against the invasion, dancing together within his mouth. They parted, finally, with a displeased sigh, flushed and breathing heavily. “I hate leaving you.” Dorian lamented gently, wishing nothing more than to be back in Cullen’s room, curled up in bed with the man, or seated upon his personal chair within the Commander’s office, reading in a companionable silence while Cullen filled in paperwork.

“I hate letting you leave.” Pulling the mage ever closer, near enough crushing him against his chest, Cullen stole one final kiss before releasing his lover, concern and regret evident in his eyes. “Just know that I love you.” He sighed, scrubbing at his hair, mouth dipping into a frown, the scar on his lip pulling with the expression.

“And I you, my amatus.” Dorian had to go, he _had_ to, though that knowledge certainly did not make parting any easier for Cullen. He had spoken with Adaar the previous morning, seeking her permission to whisk Dorian away for a few days upon their return, and she had agreed readily, a knowing twinkle in her eye. Vivienne, she said, would happily fill in for him should anything come up, though he was to take good care of her favourite mage.

The weeks passed uneventfully, Skyhold as busy and crowded as ever. Cullen carried on as he always had, working steadily through the ever increasing mountain of paperwork that accompanied his position as Commander of the Inquisition’s armies, attending the daily drills each morning for his troops, image of solidarity never wavering. Only those who knew the Commander, and knew him well, could see the difference; the way his eyes would wander to the main gate more often than was necessary, how he would stand and look out over the battlements in the hope of seeing a glimpse of dark hair and tan skin, and how he would sit alone in the Chantry garden, staring out across the flowers for hours at a time. Dorian had become as much of a part of him as his own head, and without the mage at his side he struggled to find focus.

After the first week, Cassandra was about ready to strangle him, Sera was pulling small pranks around Skyhold in his presence in a misplaced attempt to make him smile, and Bull insisted he spent his evenings in the tavern, drinking with the Chargers. That part he didn’t mind over much; the atmosphere was friendly, the music was good, and while the ale wasn’t amazing it was certainly palatable. He enjoyed the company as well; Bull himself was, as he always had been, larger than life, his booming voice reaching near deafening levels the more he drank, and Krem was always accommodating, ensuring that Bull reined it in whenever it got a little too overbearing. Rocky was pleasant to talk to, and Cullen had a feeling Sera might get on quite well with the dwarf if she were to give him a chance, though he wasn’t certain how safe that would be for the rest of Skyhold. Dalish was sweet, and Cullen found himself warming to her rather quickly, though it was to his surprise that he found the one he seemed to click with the most was Skinner. She was an elf of few words, and of all the mercenaries that travelled with Bull clearly the one who enjoyed her job the most, but she had a dry wit and a sense of loyalty that ran so deep it may as well have been sewn into her at birth.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you’re _good_ together. He’s happier, you’re less stressed, which means your men are less stressed, it’s a win-win situation all round.”

“I wasn’t _that_ bad before.” Cullen protested, leaning back against the wall, the slight haze of alcohol a pleasant distraction.

“You mean like Corypheus isn’t _that_ evil, or the breach isn’t _that_ big.” Krem snorted, grinning at the mildly inebriated Commander.

“Was I really that awful?” He winced, staring down into his tankard as though it held all of the answers. And, for the moment, at least, it did; half full, amber and with just a trace of froth. It wasn’t a good coping mechanism, and not one he would ordinarily resort to - the Commander much preferring to keep his wits about him at all times - but for now it was a nice escape. He wasn’t certain whether the guilt that spiked in his gut was exacerbated by the drink or not, and at that point he did not particularly care.

“Yeah, it was pretty bad. Amazing what a good, hard cock in the ass and a bit of love can do for you.” The rest of the Chargers howled with laughter, while Cullen could only groan, resting his forehead on the table as the pink flush of alcohol became several shades darker, reaching the tips of his ears.

“It is love, right?” The words were light, but Cullen could hear the warning beneath them and, as he looked up, he did not miss the sharp edge to Krem’s expression. It spoke volumes; don’t mess with us, don’t mess with one of our own. While Dorian himself seemed entirely oblivious to it, the Chargers had apparently decided he was one of them, and with that came all the over-protectiveness of family. Cullen suddenly felt quite alone in the crowd, by contrast, his mouth tugging downwards slightly and brow knitting together.

“Yeah.” He finally sighed, and the pause that followed made his stomach flip. “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone before. It _hurts_ that he isn’t here, that I can’t keep him safe, and it’s almost like…” Cullen paused for a moment, trying to put his feelings to words. “Like I’m missing a limb.” He was, he decided, very _very_ drunk.

“So just ask him to marry you and get it over with.” Skinner hadn’t bothered joining in prior to that, sitting off to one side watching the goings on of the rest of the group, close enough to feel part of it and yet far enough back that she could slip away if needed. Cullen’s mouth went suddenly dry at her words, her eyes boring holes into his skull and he must have looked something akin to a terrified rabbit as Krem shot her a _look_ and Bull slapped the Commander on the back hard enough to make him choke. He remained mostly silent for the rest of the night, departing for bed earlier than usual, to his surprise none of the others choosing to mention it.

In the end, Dorian’s estimation had been correct; the Inquisitor and her party arrived back three days prior to Josephine’s birthday, Adaar leaping from her horse and sweeping the much smaller woman into her arms with a bark of laughter, Josephine giggling as she was swung around before looking a little embarrassed as she was placed back upon the flagstones. Dorian was a little more reserved in his greeting, though what small amount of enthusiasm he lacked, Cullen more than made up for, dragging the mage to his chest and kissing him senseless.

“I take it you’ve missed me somewhat?” Breathless and flushed, Dorian could not help the wide smile that split his features, laughing softly as the Commander dipped his head to nuzzle at his lover’s neck.

“What gave it away?” It was extremely tempting to simply open his mouth and drag his teeth across the smooth skin below his lips, but Cullen refrained, forcing himself to pull back, stealing another small kiss from the mage as he did so.

“Call it a hunch.”

“How did it go? You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

“No, amatus, I’m fine. I feel as though I could sleep for a week, but otherwise miraculously unscathed.”

“Are you free now? Can we…” He trailed off, pulling back to simply stare at Dorian, taking in the road-weary and now rather more dishevelled appearance of the mage, one hand braced at the small of his back while the other sought out a ring-clad hand to clasp, their fingers moving reflexively to entwine themselves together.

“Sadly not, the Inquisitor still requires me for her report.” Dorian sighed, offering up an apologetic smile. “Later, though. Once this is over, I am entirely yours.”

“My office, then, when you’re done.”

“I shall endeavour to be as prompt as possible.” Sharing another short kiss, Dorian pulled back and away, eyes lingering on his lover for a long moment as he followed slowly after Adaar, very nearly managing to walk straight into one of the kitchen dwarves. Cullen tried not to laugh at that, but the embarrassed flush that coloured Dorian’s cheeks was simply too precious to ignore, and he turned away before the mage could see.

They waited until after Josephine’s birthday to leave Skyhold, the quiet few days together giving Cullen a chance to prepare the last few aspects of his surprise for his beloved, arranging for horses and food while fretting constantly that he had forgotten some important aspect of their trip. This was important, he could not risk messing it up, and knew that while the chance was fairly high that it _would_ somehow go wrong in some way, he was also fairly certain that Dorian would forgive him any small slip ups. Whether he could forgive himself? Well, that was something else entirely.

“You are fretting again, amatus.” Dorian had moved to press up against his back, long arms looping around his waist as the mage placing feather-light kisses upon the back of his neck. Cullen had opted for less formal wear, considering the circumstances of their trip, and he could feel his lover’s hot skin through the fabric of his tunic.

“I just want to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything, that’s all.” Gripping Dorian’s hand, Cullen raised it to his lips, kissing the mage’s palm, feeling the slight tingle of magic against his lips. Dorian hummed a response, but did not seem overly convinced.

“We haven’t, and the horses are waiting. Shall we depart?” He could feel the impatience of his lover through the restless hands and the shift of his feet, Dorian’s curiosity at their destination evident in the way the mage had spent the past four days prying for information, even sneaking into Cullen’s office to rifle through paperwork looking for clues. He was, it seemed, unable to simply sit and wait. No different from his birthday, really.

The trek to the small cottage at the side of the lake took all of the morning and much of the afternoon, both men saddle-sore and stiff by the time they arrived. Cullen had decided not to rush them; they had no spare horses, and they had the cottage for the next three days, it was better to take their time and enjoy the scenery, their pace slow enough that they could speak amicably as they went.

The cottage itself was tiny; three rooms, one of which was the bedroom, most of the space taken up by the intricate double bed that Dorian was fairly certain the house must have been built around. There was a large fireplace in the main room, and a serviceable kitchen area. It was quaint, and it was warm, and he found he really rather liked it. Not to spend more than a few days in, mind. A week at most. But he liked the homely feel of it, and he positively adored the look of hopeful excitement on Cullen’s face as he poked and prodded at the small space.

“This is far better than I could have imagined.” Dorian hummed, looping his arms around Cullen’s neck. “How did you find it?”

“It belongs to my cousin.” 

“Your cousin has exquisite taste. I’m assuming the bed hasn’t been marked as off-limits?” With a suggestive quirk of one eyebrow, Dorian began to lead Cullen backwards, towards the heavy door that cut the bedroom off from the rest of the house.

“We’ve only just arrived.” Cullen laughed, though he did not resist, following obediently with his head dipped and a hungry look in his eyes.

“Yes, and it’s only right that we make full use of the facilities right away.” He looked so serious that Cullen had to grin, pushing the mage back as soon as Dorian’s legs hit the bed to bounce once and crawl backwards, the blonde straddling his hips almost as soon as he landed.

“I guess it would be rude not to.” Slightly chilled hands, still cold from the long ride, slipped under his tunic and Cullen shivered. Cupping Dorian’s cheek, he leaned down to initiate a slow, lazy kiss, a simple press of lips on lips, keeping it deliberately chaste, amusement twinkling in his eyes as Dorian’s hands slipped free of his waist to bury themselves in his hair. He found himself pulled into a kiss that was decidedly not chaste, the mage’s tongue swiping against his bottom lip, begging for entrance. Cullen happily complied, soft noises slipping from his throat as the kiss turned downright lewd, Dorian plundering his mouth like a man starved.

It took little effort on Dorian’s part to reverse their positions, rolling so that he could press Cullen into the bed, the growing storm behind his eyes sending a shiver up the Commander’s spine. He broked little protest as his tunic was forced up, Dorian’s mouth leaving a hot trail as he kissed, licked and sucked a path across Cullen’s stomach, muscles there clenching involuntarily against the onslaught of lips and tongue. Sharp teeth grazed, barely there, over one nipple and he arched up with a hiss, Dorian’s strong hands pushing him back down again with ease.

“Off.” The mage commanded, tugging the hem of Cullen’s tunic up as far as it would go, the husk in his voice enough in itself to let the Commander know that Dorian was just as affected by this as he was. He hurried to comply, tugging the rough fabric over his head, stopping only when Dorian’s hands upon his arms drew his attention. Tangling the fabric further around Cullen’s wrists, where it had stalled, he smirked and pushed his lover’s hands up over his head, pressing them into the firm mattress. “Keep them there.”

Cullen did as he was commanded, an aroused flush upon his cheeks as he watched Dorian shift backwards again so that he could resume what he had started. He nipped his way down Cullen’s neck to his shoulder blade, mouth latching on just below the bone to suck hard on the paler skin there, leaving a possessive red wheel in his wake before laving it with his tongue in an almost apology. Strong, slender fingers roamed over the bare flesh of Cullen’s torso, the onslaught of sensation drawing little whines and low gasps from him, his bound hands twitching above his head, wanting to touch, to feel, to do anything other than simply lay there and watch as Dorian took him apart, piece by piece.

“Dorian, I want-” Cullen hissed as one abused nipple was twisted between finger and thumb, not quite hard enough to hurt. He could quite easily slip free of his bonds, to grab the mage and show rather than tell, but this was Dorian’s game and he had no wish to spoil it, no matter how great the need.

“Yes, amatus? What is it that you want?” He was left breathless by the look Dorian gave him, the mage glancing up from his position hovering over the prominent bulge in his breeches, hot breath causing his straining erection to twitch beneath the tented fabric. Dorian’s pupils were dilated, eyes near-black, lips swollen and cheekbones carrying the slightest flush.

“ _Please_ Dorian, I want- I _need_ -” His head fell back as a wanton moan slipped from his throat, Dorian mouthing at the barrier of cloth concealing his erection. The mage seemed amused at that, humming around the thick shaft before pulling back so that he could slowly and carefully peel the fabric back, leaving Cullen bare to his hungry gaze. He quickly stripped off his own clothing, the intricate ties and buckles no match for deft, well-versed fingers. Dorian reached back to place a gentle hand upon the inside of Cullen’s knee, the Commander spreading his legs obediently so that Dorian could settle between them.

“I do so adore you like this.” The mage sighed, almost wistfully, running his fingers over Cullen’s hip, thumb stroking circles beside the little hollow on the inside of the bone there. “Beautiful and bare and entirely for me.” Pressing both hands down upon Cullen’s hips, holding him in place, Dorian decided, finally, that he had tortured his lover enough, leaning down to take the tip of Cullen’s shaft between his lips. Cullen bucked up with a howl, held mostly in place by the mage, who used the momentum to slide further down, taking more of the hard length into his mouth before pulling back up again, repeating the process.

Cullen tried to remain still, he really did, but Dorian knew _exactly_ how to make him come undone and took great pride in doing so. He could feel the heat coiling in his belly already, and looked away from his lover, trying to push the rising tide of orgasm back, not wishing for it to end just yet. He was so busy staring at the bedpost that he could not help but jump as a cold, slick digit pressed against the crack of his ass, earning another amused chuckle from the mage, the sound vibrating along his shaft and dragging another keening moan from him. Without prompting, Cullen spread his legs just that little bit wider, planting his feet upon the covers and canting his hips to give better access.

The slick finger dipped between his buttocks, pressing against the tight pucker it found there, the ring of muscle parting for it and he could see the concentration on Dorian’s face as he slowly thrust it in and out. A second finger joined the first, the stretch barely felt, Cullen gripping onto the tunic tangled around his hands and biting his lower lip as he pushed down onto the intruding digits. Dorian’s mouth pulled away with a lewd pop, saliva-slicked shaft colliding with Cullen’s belly and a third finger was added. This time there was some discomfort, though no pain, the digits scissoring and stretching him for what was to come. It was unusual for Dorian to take quite so much care, he thought, the mage well aware of his lover’s limits; he had to know he was being overly cautious, and as much as Cullen did not particularly mind, his body was screaming for release.

Twisting his fingers and curling them up, Dorian brushed once against the bundle of nerves he knew to be there, earning a pleasured shout from his lover, before pulling out entirely. Cullen whined plaintively at the loss, though remained otherwise still, breath stuttering as he felt something rather larger press against his entrance.

Dorian pressed forwards, torturously slowly, inch by glorious inch stretching Cullen open. It seemed an age before Cullen felt the press of Dorian’s hips against his thighs and ass, and he finally allowed himself to look up, his lover’s expression one of absolute concentration. His eyes were shut, lashes a dark smudge against his cheeks, breathing heavily; it seemed neither one of them was likely to last long.

After taking a moment to steady himself, Dorian pulled back, opening his eyes to gaze down at his lover as he pushed in once more, building up a steady rhythm. Each thrust was punctuated by a jarred moan from the blonde, sweat-slicked curls sticking to his forehead, looking utterly debauched as Dorian pounded into his willing body. The tearing of fabric heralded the freedom of Cullen’s hands from their fabric bonds, reaching up to pull Dorian in for a desperate, open-mouthed kiss, the shout of his release punctuated by the irregular slap of skin on skin. Dorian’s pace stuttered, the clench of muscles around him near-painful and he only managed three more strokes before he, too, was tumbling over the edge, spilling deep into his lover’s sated and limp body with a low groan before collapsing on top of the Commander, the evidence of their tryst smearing between them.

They both slept well that night.

“Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” Cullen took Dorian’s hand, the mage instantly twining their fingers together, leading him out through the door and down to the lakeside, the morning sun warm upon their backs. A narrow, winding path that might have been more of an animal track than a true road wrapped around the still water, and they followed it. The weather had been beautiful for the first two days of their trip, warm enough that Dorian could not find it in himself to complain and what little chill there was at night was held at bay by the blonde Commander’s firm, warm body, pressed to his back while strong arms held him in place. Now, though, dark clouds were starting to gather in the distance, far enough away that it was not worth worrying over just at that point, but they would need to eat indoors that night.

It was quiet, a stark contrast to the continual noise at Skyhold, and the air smelled cleaner, fresher somehow. Tiny birds twittered in the trees, well hidden, and the sound of water lapping at the rocks beside the lake was soothing. It was nothing like home, Dorian found, but then there wasn’t much in Ferelden or Orlais that was much like home. Tevinter was a glorious place, but it was larger than life, imposing, a land tamed by humans and kept constantly in check. This was wilder, and Dorian found that he loved it.

“Where are we going, amatus?” Kicking a small stone, the splash it made as it fell into the water, Dorian glanced over the lake. The sun still shone brightly overhead, bright reflections glittering upon the surface of the water, hiding the fish that he knew lurked just below the surface. It glittered off Cullen’s hair as well, making it appear as spun gold, giving him something of an ethereal glow and Dorian found himself falling in love all over again.

“Just over here.” Cullen hummed by way of response, letting go of Dorian’s hand just long enough to scale the half-height rocks before them, reaching down to help the mage up once he was stable. “This was one of my favourite places when I was growing up. I’d escape here when being around my siblings was too much, and my mother didn’t mind me being here; she knew my cousin and aunt would watch out for me. I’d come and sit up here and just think for a while.”

“It’s nice here.” Dorian let himself lean back against his lover, Cullen’s arms wrapping protectively around his waist, strong chin upon his shoulder. Clouds obscured the sun for a long minute, and Dorian could not help but shiver slightly, pressing back further. The branches of the willow tree behind them trailed overhead, their tips dipping into the water, a constant source of ripples and movement in the light breeze.

“It’s quiet, I could sleep out here and not be disturbed, and the tree meant I wouldn’t burn if I _did_ happen to fall asleep in the midday sun. I have a lot of good memories here.”

“And you wanted to share them with me?” Turning in Cullen’s arms, Dorian pressed a chaste kiss to the Commander’s lips, the expression on Cullen’s face so soft and sweet that he could not help but smile.

“I want to share everything with you.” Taking a deep breath, steadying himself, Cullen pulled back so that he might drop down to one knee, shaking fingers tugging a simple gold band from his pocket, a single clear stone sparkling atop it. “Marry me? I mean, would you-” Cullen cut himself off, berating himself internally as he decided to start again. Dorian simply stood and stared, voice momentarily lost to him, eyes wide, one trembling hand raised before his mouth as he stared down at the Commander with something akin to awe. “Dorian Pavus, you are the love of my life, my everything. Would you do me the honour of becoming my husband, for the rest of our days?” His gaze never wavered, never moved from Dorian’s face, looking in equal measure heartbreakingly hopeful and utterly terrified.

“Did you really think I would be able to say anything other than yes?” Firm hands on his collar, and Cullen found himself swept up into Dorian’s arms, the mage kissing him with such unbridled passion that he very nearly dropped the ring. “Yes you dear, sweet man, I can think of nothing I could ever want more.” He let Cullen take his hand, slipping the ring into place, a little loose but nothing that could not be rectified once they were back at Skyhold. It sparkled upon his finger, the dappled light through the tree branches catching the golden surface and he could not help but smile, running his thumb over it, feeling the smooth finish. The diamond was low-set in the metal, which meant it wasn’t likely to catch on his clothing while he was casting, and Dorian was vaguely aware of just how much thought Cullen must have put into the thing.

“We probably won’t be able to have the wedding until all this is over.” Cullen sighed softly, looping his arms around Dorian’s waist and resting their foreheads together.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, I’m sure we’ll be able to squeeze it in.” Came the humoured response, Dorian’s fingers loosely tangled in Cullen’s tunic, standing close enough that their knees brushed. “Besides, I’m almost certain that our illustrious Inquisitor and her darling girlfriend are going to start planning it almost as soon as we return.”

“Ah…” Cullen looked somewhat sheepish, tugging Dorian a little closer and offering an apologetic look. “They already are.”

“They know?” Raising an eyebrow, the corner of Dorian’s mouth twitched when Cullen flushed. “Did they not consider that I might have said no?”

“That’s what I told her, but the Inquisitor just laughed at me and said you had more sense and better taste than that.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong.” Dorian laughed, stealing another kiss before pulling away and taking hold of Cullen’s hand, their fingers lacing together. “We should probably head inside, it looks as though it might rain, and I’d quite like to ruin another of those dull tunics you seem to like.”

The first arrow hit its mark with surprising accuracy, burying itself in Dorian’s leg just below the knee. Face tightening in pain, he gripped Cullen’s hand harder on reflex, almost falling if not for the strong arms that wrapped around him, pulling him back. They were lucky with the next two arrows; neither hit home, whizzing past at speed to bury themselves in the dirt. They were open, though, exposed; the large lake on one side, tree to their right and no real cover aside from that for several hundred metres. Cullen did what he could, pressing Dorian back against the willow tree and hoping they were out of sight for the moment.

“Take it out.” Panting, pain from the wooden shaft buried in his leg evident on his features, Dorian leaned back against the solid trunk behind him, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the flaking bark.

“It’ll hurt.” Cullen hovered over his lover for a moment, eyes everywhere, on Dorian, on the tree, on the area around them in case another ambush were to appear.

“I already hurts, just take it out.” They shared a look, one of mutual concern, and Cullen nodded. The knife he kept at his belt cut through the shaft of the arrow next to where it protruded from Dorian’s leg behind his knee, the mage gritting his teeth as it was jostled, blood seeping too rapidly from the wound. Stopping only to ensure Dorian was ready, Cullen grasped the end of the arrow, near the flights, and pulled. It came free, Dorian’s howl of pain muffled behind his teeth, lips drawn back in a snarl.

“The archers will pose a problem, I’m not going to be able to get close enough to take them out without getting shot.” Cullen tore a strip of fabric from the hem of his tunic, tying it tightly over the wound in Dorian’s leg, the bleeding slowing but not stopping. “Can you deal with them from here?”

“I’m going to have to.” Standing fully, Dorian winced, too much weight on his injured leg sending spikes of pain up his back. “I don’t have my staff, so it isn’t going to be easy, and it certainly isn’t going to be as precise as I would have liked, but needs must.”

“Just do what you can, we’ll get through this.”

“You always sound so certain, amatus.” He wasn’t, not really. Cullen had no idea how they were going to win; aside from the knife, more designed for cutting ropes and fruit than fighting, they had no weapons on them, nothing they could use to defend themselves.

“We always do, don’t we?” His smile was a reassuring one, though it did not quite reach his eyes, and Dorian felt a stab of worry work its way through him. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” The archers dropped quickly, all three of them; he could never understand why they wore so little in the way of protective armour. Flexibility, he supposed, leathers likely worked far better for pulling a bowstring than heavy armour, and he couldn’t really talk, his own robes offering little in the way of protection against the blade of a sword should one get too close. Not that it mattered, really, he was thankful for anything that gave them even the smallest advantage.

Without their ranged advantage, the enemy charged forwards, their booted footsteps dull upon the hard earth, the clanking of metal and the grinding of plate armour against the non-organic growths giving away not only their position, but also the fact that they had one of the fallen with them, a horror from the near-human growls it produced as it approached. They remained pressed back against the tree, Cullen on one side, Dorian on the other, the mage throwing spell after spell at the approaching Templars, managing to down two more before they were upon them.

A blade flashed to his right and Dorian almost cried out, swinging his attention around to find that Cullen had effortlessly dodged, his own lack of armour giving him a distinct advantage over his heavily armoured opponent. Dodging again, Cullen used the Templar’s momentum against him, toppling the man to the ground and wrenching the sword from his hand. Cullen was up again in a moment, the Templar struggling to stand, to go after him. Cullen did not give him the chance, though, the man lying dead upon the ground as the Commander whipped around to block the sword of another.

For each Templar that fell, it seemed that another took its place, and with the pain in his leg Dorian could move less than he would have liked. His hands worked the magic he pulled from within himself, casting it and shaping it, but it wasn’t enough. Cullen remained at his side, moving away only to parry or block, another Templar falling to his blade, then another. Cullen was a powerful and skilled warrior, and Dorian was an accomplished mage, but it simply wasn’t enough. They were tiring fast, and they needed a way out.

Time seemed to slow as two Templars converged on Cullen at once. One he took out with ease, but the ground there was too dry and a tree root was all it took, his footing going from under him. Dorian saw the blade, the way it glinted as it flashed through the air, saw how Cullen’s own sword raised just that little bit too late as the sharp metal bit into his neck. He stumbled backwards and fell, thudding to the grass with a sickening gurgle. Dorian was at his side in an instant, pulling Cullen into his arms and pressing his hands against the gushing wound. There was so much blood, though, and he simply could not stop it, trying to force healing magic and failing.

One last breath trickled over Dorian’s arm, and the light in Cullen’s eyes faded and died.

Time stopped. Dorian screamed.

Clutching the body of his lover to his chest, anguished cries ringing out over the lake, Dorian lashed out. The Templars did not see it coming, the streams of red mist tugging at them, pulling and tearing and ripping at flesh, the blood of their allies tearing them to pieces. It invaded their lungs, squeezing and expanding in one. It filled their bellies, popping the delicate organ, and it tore through their heads, brain matter trickling out as they were destroyed from the inside out.

By the time the red storm ended, screams silenced, the lake ran red and none save Dorian remained, still clutching Cullen’s rapidly cooling form to his chest. Silence reigned, save for the despairing sobs of the mage, cold and alone.  
The rain started at some point, large heavy droplets weighing down the branches above their heads, dripping through to land on the bloodied battlefield, not enough to wash away the evidence of their failure, of Dorian’s sin, but enough that he was left soaked through. He tried, in vain, to shield Cullen from the rain, to keep him dry, keep him warm, _it was the least that he could do_.

He wasn’t found until the next day, shivering from more than the cold, dead-eyed and listless yet unrelenting in his vigil. He could not have said how he made it back to Skyhold, save that it wasn’t of his own doing, and as Adaar wrapped him in a tight embrace, her own tears of grief held back for his sake, Dorian wept.

Cullen was dead; the only man who had ever truly loved him was gone, and in his madness Dorian had resorted to blood magic. He was truly broken.


End file.
